Waking up groggy in the morning after another fight, I scan my mind thinking of someone I can call. I decide on his mom.
“Something has got to give. I can’t keep doing this. There used to be good days, but now there are no more good days,” I tell her, craving an answer. “Oh, Jen, I’m sorry. I really believe this is a spiritual battle. We need to be fighting for him. Will you fast with me once a week?” she requests.
I don’t fast. I mean I have, but I don’t anymore. My blood sugar gets low, and I get super cranky. But I am desperate so I agree. We make a plan to fast from dinner on Tuesday until dinner on Wednesday so I don’t have to explain anything to him.
I get off the phone and crumble to my knees, sobbing. “Please, God, do something. I can’t keep doing this life.”